


Odds' Pay

by luluwithan_u



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst, Blood and Injury, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Violence, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluwithan_u/pseuds/luluwithan_u
Summary: 10th Edition of the Annual Hunger Games. District Seven. Two tributes: a former promising doctor-to-be, left to fend for his chosen family; and a well-known redhead with much spirit.The War and destruction of District 13 is so recent, Gilbert Blythe thought it obvious that no one could dare to rebel. When Anne Shirley did, then, he couldn't help following along.Would the odds be, ever, in their favor?
Relationships: Diana Barry & Jerry Baynard, Diana Barry/Jerry Baynard, Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	1. Prologue: Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a lil thing I'm doing because I'm too much of a fangirl lol, it's also my first time publishing here in Ao3. Feel free to hit me up at anytime with suggestions because I am so open to them! 
> 
> If you wanna find more of me, here's my AWAE twitter account: https://twitter.com/tbhjaneandrews :)
> 
> I'll be back with chapter one as soons as I have it proofread lol. See you around folks :)

Anne was so confused. 

It was everywhere. They were everywhere. Every scratch in her body burned from their collections of slashing objects, every scar had the white tissue of their skin. In her head, their voices screamed, a mess among themselves, but all aimed at her. They screamed their names, her name, they screamed for their families, their homes, and everything they had left behind. Some stared at her, too, and some didn’t bother. His eyes, though, his hazel green eyes. They were the most painful ones to hold.

Anne wanted to knock her head onto the floor, but she didn’t know if she could get up from it. She didn’t even know if she wanted to. Her axe was out of her hand by now, she was sure, resting deep in the snow. Her tears burned her cheeks as soon as they left her eye, for not even then could bear the cold.

She took a deep breath in. She was Anne Shirley. She had come here to do something, and she was going to. She bent down upon his fallen body, examining it once more. Her chest moved up and down so fast, so how come his was static? The blood splattered across the snow wasn’t helping her think either. After a moment, she put her hand to his throat.

_A beat._

_Another._

Anne struggled to pick up her axe. She looked to the nearest tree, where she was sure they’d hidden a camera, and put her most desperate face on. She hugged him in a way that showed them it was the last time, keeping a finger on his jugular vein. Only loud enough for the microphone, hoping her words would get lost for the blizzard, Anne whispered: “Try this, motherfuckers.”

She bared her wrists to the cutting northern wind. She could barely feel the cold. Anne lifted her axe, and, just as she was about to let it fall, the world became dark.


	2. The Greatest Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Reaping day, and Anne is peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are! Lets actually let this roll, yeah?  
> There's a few links to outfits and gifs. Enjoy <3

[Her mother](https://media.giphy.com/media/a42LsSIuJPlxS/giphy.gif) ran her hand through Anne’s red hair one last time. she kissed her forehead, and hugged her tightly. Even at seven years of age, Anne had known this meant goodbye. 

She held tightly onto her mom, who caressed her hair for a little longer. “We are being brave for you, my girl. You, one day, will have to be brave for us too.”

But Anne didn’t want to hear it, not when she’d heard these words so many times. She tried to bury her head deeper into her mom’s chest, trying to ignore everything. Maybe if she could just hold her for a few more moments, maybe she wouldn’t have to go this time.

But once again, Bertha was ripped from her hands. She cried for her parents, and, though they looked at her, it felt like she was making no sound at all. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest. _Take me away. Take me with you. Anywhere but here._

A hand touched her shoulder, and, gulping for air, [Anne](https://data.whicdn.com/images/315917270/original.gif) woke up. Marilla Cuthbert, who had also touched her shoulder to keep her from running after her parents that day, sat by her bedside, a concerned look on her face. Light that indicated the middle of the morning came in through her window. Their cow mooed in the background. Her parents weren’t there. They hadn’t been for ten years.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Marilla said, pressing her lips together. After all these years, Anne had learned her to be honest. “It was a dream. You’re safe now.”

Anne chuckled, taking some hair out of her face. “Isn’t today the Reaping?”

Marilla sighed. “Acid like your father.”

“And lively like my mother,” Anne completed, a meek smile on her face. She let Marilla stroke her hair for a second, sighing herself. Knowing she had entered the lottery multiple times over the past years to get tesseras not only for her, Matthew and Marilla but also for some of the children at school that had even less than them, Anne knew she had a long day ahead of her. It wasn’t exactly unlikely for her name to be sorted out over all the other girls in District Seven to be a tribute in the 10th Annual Hunger Games, but after all these years, she faced the possibility with a sort of peace. “Better get it over with. Should I milk Prejudice?”

“Oh, Matthew did it for you. He wanted to surprise you.” Marilla smiled, watching Anne stand up and put her hair in two long braids. “Come, let us go down. The Baynards have come to breakfast with us.”

Anne offered Marilla a genuine smile as she left the room, and decided to change into her [day clothes](https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2466710) at once. She slid into her best shirt - a green one, with some white flowers embroidered on the short sleeves - and her only skirt, a brown one that went down to below her knees. Though she didn’t think they were worth spending on a day such as the Reaping, Marilla made the good point that, should she not be picked, it would be a reason for celebration, and, should she be, she would want to look charming for the cameras. Most of all, Anne thought it a pity she couldn’t wear them more frequently. The sleeves had a little puff that had always made her feel better about her skinny figure.

The house she had lived in with the Cuthberts for the past ten years could be described as small, but slim would perhaps be a better word. All made of medium-quality wood - the best, of course, was kept for the Capitol’s business -, it had two floors, with the kitchen and living room mashed together in the first floor and two rooms, Anne’s and the one shared by Matthew and Marilla, on the top floor. It wasn’t, by far, a very spacious place. For starters, Anne always had to check if the Cuthberts weren’t coming out of their room to open her own door in safety, and whenever they hosted visits, like the Baynards, all furniture had to be shoved aside. This was, of course, the situation she saw as soon as she reached the first floor.

The Baynards were a big family that lived right next door to the Cuthberts. As they had a lot of working hands to be put to use, and Matthew, Marilla and Anne sometimes struggled to fill up the lumber quota imposed upon every house in their district, they would sometimes lend a hand in favour of Prejudice’s milk, and, though they initially refused it, tesseras Anne took for the younger children. She could never stop Jerry, the eldest son and one of her closest friends, from doing it himself, but Anne had to be satisfied with keeping the other Baynard children out of trouble. It was enough pain that Jerry’s only older brother had already been taken tribute a few years back, and she was glad to help in any way she could.

They greeted her as she slid into the table, sitting opposite Marilla and to Jerry’s left. He smiled at her, mouth half-full. “Well, someone’s looking dashing.”

“Oh, shove off,” she nudged at him playfully, serving herself to some egg and milk as he swallowed. 

“You know, if you’re trying to get a boyfriend at the Reaping, he’s gonna have to get through me first,” Jerry insisted, earning no answer but a apprehensive look from one of his sisters. It was a touchy subject, yes, but this was Jerry’s way: he was young, innocent and full-spirited. Nothing could bring him down.

Anne finished her first gulp of milk, waiting a moment for the perfect retort. “Say, Jerry, have you seen Diana Barry lately?”

Jerry almost choked on his food, sending Anne a look. She smiled tauntingly at him over a forkful of egg. Marie, one of Jerry’s sisters, giddied up in awe. “I bet she is gonna be so pretty today. It must be great to be the mayor’s daughter and have all those nice outfits.”

“Marie, now, we musn’t complain,” Marilla said, making Anne and Jerry simultaneously scoff at their plates. “We have been provided with more than others, haven’t we? Let us be thankful for today and hopeful for the future, dear.”

“Bold to assume there is one,” Jerry’s brother, sitting right next to him, whispered so only Anne and Jerry himself could hear. The three of them, that year, were the children on the table eligible for the games, Anne knew, plus one of Jerry’s sisters who had just turned twelve. They shared a somber look. Jean was, in fact, right: no one knew what the future might hold.

Though it was already several hours later, after the Baynards left to do their own preparations for the Reaping and the Cuthberts had their lunch, Anne felt like the day had sped all too quickly to the time they would leave their house for the main square. As she did every year - just in case, she told herself -, Anne tidied her room and left the token she would like to take with her on her dressing table before bidding Prejudice goodbye. This year, like all others, she had chosen a [necklace](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1aaVsaPzuK1RjSsppq6xz0XXaP.jpg) with a daisy pendant on the end - the last birthday present her father had ever given her. 

The three Cuthberts set out a little earlier than most did, as they had done every year because of the toll the walk took on Matthew especially. Anne always thought it funny that in District Seven, where lumber was priority, the town itself was so clear of trees. Of course, the main square had its beautiful oak trees, but everyone knew that was for show. Outside it, the district was organized into a few sections, the smallest one being the trade sector, mixed with the Peacekeepers’ Quarters, and the biggest and most populated one being the streets where Anne lived, the lumberjacks. In District Seven, efficiency was key: every house backyarded to a boulevard of trees parallel to the street it was located all of which eventually led to the Outer Woods, where lumberjacks spent most of their days collecting lumber. This way, transporters could be place on the ends of the long streets, being closer to the woods themselves, and, whenever one side of the woods needed to be re-sown, there certainly would be more on the other side. 

The long, clear streets also certainly made it easier for the Peacekeepers to keep an eye on anything being smuggled into town - and they surely did. As they passed a group of them stationed midway their way into town, Anne made sure to offer them a scowl. She knew from Jerry that keeping a good relationship with them would be best, as they could be great clients; but she couldn’t help thinking about how harshly they would beat someone for smuggling or take someone away, and then come to her with their candy-tongues as soon as Jerry and her had cut down a mahogany tree. She always had fun seeing them greet her with restraint in the town though, for they did want the fine lumber she brought in, and this was a day that could use a little bit of fun. 

Rather sooner than later, the three Cuthberts got to the main square, which began to quickly fill up with the district’s population. District Seven was a large district, so, knowing they would soon get lost in the crowd, Anne found a bench for her adoptive parents next to the Thomas family, who were old friends of the Cuthberts. Next, she knew she had to go to the polls and line up with the other eligible children in the district, but she hardly wanted to leave her parents already. 

Matthew held her by the shoulders. “So, you’re telling me you have more tesseras than usual in this year?” When Anne swallowed hard, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Forget about that. Getting out of this will be child’s play, okay?”

Anne couldn’t help but smile. “Sure?”

He winked and hugged her before answering. “You’ll be back by dinner. I’m certain.”

Next, Marilla hugged her tightly. “It will be fine, dear Anne. We will be here. Don’t despair.”

“You’ll take care of yourself, right, Marilla? And of Matthew?” Anne whispered into her hair, not wanting to admit to Matthew the possibility of her being sorted.

“Of course. I always have.” Marilla let her go and caressed her face. “Now, move along. We don’t want you being stampeded by everyone else, go while it’s empty.”

After a smile, Anne waved them goodbye and walked towards the polls. They looked so peaceful just there, sitting in a bench that had been carved into one of the oak trees in the main square, that she would have given anything to not walk away. She could almost imagine herself, sitting with them, in the coming years.

 _No longing, Anne_ , she reminded herself. _Just Peace._

It was harder than it looked, but, once she set her mind to it, peaceful she did feel. Of course, there had been happier days, but, when she met her _de facto_ best friend Diana Barry at the poll, it wasn’t hard to make conversation. How beautiful Diana was, how old the oaks looked, how sunny and enjoyable the weather had been: everything could be so fine she almost forgot to feel nervous about the Games. 

Anne barely realized it when they finally came to the sorting. District Seven’s patron was a tall, broad-shouldered man name Victor Templesmith, whose green eyes, Anne always thought, looked very pathetically artificial. Even though he was, she guessed, attractive, his voice and laughter had always been the omen of trouble for anyone in Seven, so, naturally, the crowd wasn’t pleased at him.

The time for the Reaping itself came too early, she thought. As Victor walked towards the name ballots, Anne caught the eye of young Melanie Baynard, biting her nails. _All that’s sacred, let it not be her_ , Anne thought.

“And the female tribute from District Seven,” Victor announced, in his lustrous voice and ridiculous Capitol accent. _Anything. Just not Melanie._ “is Anne Shirley!”

Anne sighed. _Not Melanie. Thank God._

Diana grabbed onto her arm, pulling her back to reality. Diana’s eyes were frightened, but she did, and not only for Melanie, feel peaceful. This was a possibility. A real one. She thought of her mother, yanked from her arms, as she would be from Marilla's. There were worse fates. “Miss Shirley, can you please step onto the stage?”

The crowd opened before her, and Anne made her way to the risen platform. Some gaped, some were relieved, a few cried for her. Anne did her best to look fine - she did feel it. Victor helped her up, and, as soon as she was there, she scanned the crowd for Matthew and Marilla. Almost 20,000 people were a lot to gather, but she did hear a squeal coming from near one of the oaks. She took a deep breath. She would see them later. It would be fine. 

She was scared of the Games. Naturally. Anyone who wasn’t was out of their mind. She saw Jerry in the male crowd, looking like he was holding back heavy tears. Anne nodded to him, trying to guarantee it was okay, she was fine, but Jerry suddenly looked away. His name had been called by Victor. 

"Will Mister Baynard please join us on the stage?"

Anne gasped. Jerry's mother screamed as he started to muddle through the crowd. 

"No!" A different voice screamed, and Anne searched for its owner. A chill went up her spine. She knew that voice, too. "I volunteer!"

When Anne found [Gilbert Blythe](https://pa1.narvii.com/7077/833b74e128b6efc03830804e8e1e281f66dfe981r1-540-193_00.gif) in the crowd, his eyes had already been on her. Of course it was Gilbert Blythe. She knew him - everyone did. A boy who had everything in him to be a good healer, but also an orphan. They went to school together, though he was a year older than her. Gilbert Blythe, unachievable in his nobility, too good for the lumberjacks' callous hands. Anne knew him, yes, but she couldn't say they were fond. They had had their episodes, but, in truth, the only person Anne trusted who grew outside of the long streets of the lumberjacks was Diana, and no one else. His skin seemed too soft, his black curls too well-cared for, and, God, let her not speak of his chin, so superior to all the other boys' with no reason at all.

He nodded to her reassuringly, and then hugged Jerry tightly. She couldn't wrap her head around why he did that. He and Jerry weren't that great friends, he and Anne much less. She understood, though, she was now in debt with him. Debts weren't a good thing to have heading into the Hunger Games - she did not like him the better for it.

"Very well," Victor said, his voice barely even shaken. "Join us onstage, will you, Mister?"

He did, the crowd opening up for him. The entire district looked at him in awe and admiration. Anne held a scoff back in. Why wasn't she, undaunted, given that privilege? It didn't matter now, surely, but she would have to find a way to be noteworthy if her counterpart was already catching sighs.

"What is your name, young man?" Victor asked, hand held out to Gilbert.

Anne risked a look. Gilbert's hazel green eyes were calm. "It's Blythe. Gilbert Blythe."

Victor took his hand on the right, and Anne's on the left, pulling them closer to the microphone. "Your tributes, District Seven: Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe!"

Anne did her best to look brave for the crowd, and she could tell Gilbert did too. He seemed, however, to thrive in their pity, using their condolences, and Anne couldn't bear to. Surely, she could have used better food, a better partner, a better state to start with, one that didn't murder their children once a year. Still, she had the greatest gift the Capitol could have given her: vengefulness. They had taken something from her. And, under the eyes of her district, she knew it was time she knew their pay was due. 

"And may the odds be ever in your favor."


	3. Signs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert's close ones can't understand why he volunteered, and he doesn't seem keen on explaining it. Do the signs point to it all being as unclear as it seems?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy!! I'm back at it with chapter two <3 I think I might have lost myself many times while writing it, not my best paced piece BUT I hope you like it! Enjoy Gilbert's usual confusion ❤️

After District Seven had saluted them, Gilbert let Victor Templesmith drag him and Anne Shirley into the backroom behind the stage, where they would wait to say their goodbyes. As everything in District Seven, it was made of wood; but, as part of the Town Hall, it was so much grander than most of the other rooms in District Seven. Against the oak walls, beautiful green and gold tapestries, lustrous like a field of grass itself, hung. Gilbert felt like it had been an eternity since he had seen such luxury - but then, of course, it was only a decade. This room, smaller and empty, visibly wasn’t their final destination. Victor made a sign for them to wait a moment, as he was pulled to the side by a peacekeeper. When he came back, he looked slightly gloomier than before - if that was even possible for Capitol people.

“It seems there has been a terrible mishap,” He said, then cleared his throat. “I will ask you both to stay here for a second, if you don’t mind, so we can arrange properly for your visits.

Gilbert nodded, seeing that Anne followed suit. As they were left alone with the peacekeepers, he risked a look at the girl on his left. God, how did Anne manage to look so calm in the middle of all this? Even now, with her eyebrows raised slightly in confusion, he was sure he hadn’t seen a more serene tribute.

Tribute. He was a tribute now, and so was she. Marked to die. It felt like his brain was being grabbed and shook, all of the information inside his head scattered to many different parts. It had been such a regular day, he would never have guessed it would end with him becoming the male tribute for District Seven at the 10th Annual Hunger Games, much less with  _ Anne Shirley  _ as his counterpart.

“What are you staring at, Blythe?” Her voice pulled him out of his reverie. Anne was still facing the door through which Templesmith had left, and had a mocking smile on her face. “Lost something over here?”

“I- I’m sorry,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I just - I’m trying to figure out how we got here.”

“Well, I got here by putting in too many tesseras for the Baynard children,” Anne answered dryly, only then turning her eyes to him. They were just as cool as he had always imagined them to be up close. Blue and piercing, like they could read him as easy as a sheet of paper. “I suppose you were doing a similar thing, although, to be honest, I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Gilbert swallowed hard. Yes, he hadn’t wanted for Jerry Baynard to be reaped, it was true. They went to school together, and had been fairly good friends over the years. The Baynard girls had often helped him with taking care of Delly, and it had already been so hard to see the eldest Baynard son go, a couple of years before. But, then, everyone was the close friend of someone who had been reaped - rarely ever would someone volunteer for them.

He tried to hold her eyes, but it was so very hard. He knew why he had volunteered. He knew it all too well. But, out of all the people he knew, the last one he wanted to tell about why he had undertaken this endeavor was Anne Shirley - and yet, she was the one to which he most likely would have to tell the truth.

The door opened again, and he thanked God he didn’t have to just yet. Victor Templesmith entered, and, through the gap, they were both able to see and hear unrest. Anne looked unsettled, way more than she had before. He understood that was because the main voice they had heard screaming, outside the room, had been her ward’s, Marilla Cuthbert. 

When Anne went to take a step forward, Gilbert held her wrist.  _ Too dangerous. Just wait. _ She stared daggers at him, but he knew he couldn’t back down now. He felt like a rabbit being discovered by an eagle. Before Anne could challenge him too, the door was closed and Templesmith spoke.

“Oh, you two know each other. How very endearing,” he smiled affectedly, and Anne tore her hand away from Gilbert’s. Though he did want to be by Anne, and associated with her, the way Templesmith said it made him want to throw up - like it didn’t matter if it was real, as long as it could be part of the game. “Anyway, you will have much time together later. For now, please do go into the rooms behind you. Your visitors will be here shortly.”

Before going in, he risked one last look at Anne, but she was already gone. Gilbert took a deep breath in and walked through the door.

Inside, he waited for no more than a couple of minutes before the door shot open. Through it came Bash Lacroix, his father’s best friend when he had been alive, with his little daughter Delly in tow. She was about five now, and ran to Gilbert’s arms and the couch where he sat. “Daddy says you did something very dangerous, uncle Gilbert.”

Gilbert gave her a small smile. “I might have, Delly, but I promise it was for a good reason.”

“I’ll miss you while you’re gone,” she said, nuzzling her small head into his chest. Gilbert hugged her back.

“So will I, Delly. I promise, I’ll think of you everyday. You can look at the moon at night, and be sure I’ll be looking at it as well, yeah?”

“What about nights when there is no moon?”

Gilbert chuckled. She really did have an answer - or a question - to everything these days. Soon enough, though, Delly hushed her off his lap to look at the tapestries. Gilbert swallowed - he did not think of the fact that he would have to face Sebastian Lacroix.

It wasn’t like Sebastian wasn’t a kind man. Gilbert knew very well that he could, in fact, be the kindest of them: he had seen how easily he had won his wife over, Mary; how he loved his daughter more than the world and how he grieved so much, still today, for the many losses he had suffered. The difference between he and Gilbert, as Sebastian liked to point, was that he would always be realistic. Gilbert’s thoughts went back to that same morning, when he had lied to Sebastian about taking extra tessera, trying to avoid a sermon. He held back a chuckle. All that sneaking around for him to volunteer.

Bash was fierce. Gilbert knew he would tear that place down and run away, just the three of them, if he could, but it wasn’t possible to evade the Capitol. So, instead, Bash directed his anger at Gilbert’s impulsiveness. At how it didn’t matter the Baynards had already lost a son, how Gilbert wasn’t even that close to Jerry, at how this is not what John Blythe would have wanted Gilbert to make of the last remainder of the Blythe legacy - here, pointedly, he said that if any of John’s wishes had become reality, he would be here now, and Panem would not. Gilbert mostly let him go off, however, fueling him here and there. He had only five minutes, and he wouldn’t want to lash at Bash in their last five minutes together. 

When the peacekeepers said, at last, their time was over, Bash hugged him very tight, and Gilbert retributed appropriately. “Take care, Bash. Delly needs you.”

Bash held him by the shoulders, his dark eyes deadly serious, “You’ll need way more care than I do, Blythe. I hope the odds really are in your favor, or whatever it is they always say.”

They both chuckled, and Delly hugged Gilbert’s legs as a goodbye. As Bash gave him a last hug, he whispered, “And don’t think I didn’t realize you didn’t tell me why the hell you did this. I will be waiting for your argument.”

Gilbert looked down, not wanting to face his eyes, and it seemed to work: when he looked up again, Bash was gone. He felt a sharp twinge at his heart, but, just about when he would start contemplating the emptiness they had left, the doors opened to let in Jerry Baynard.

“Hey, man,” Jerry said, walking to him. They hugged very quickly. “I felt like coming was the least I could do.”

Gilbert furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Jerry scratched the back of his head. “Well, I mean, you know how my family is. We can’t really help Bash or Delly with money or food, but, if we could -”

“Jerry, stop,” Gilbert chuckled. “You don’t owe me anything. You never will.”

Jerry chuckled too, shaking his head. “Some of them think you’re out of your mind, you know? Volunteering for me, when it’s not even sure you have better chances.”

“Oh, come on! I can yield an axe!” Gilbert protested, and Jerry’s face made both of them laugh. Today was, after all, a day that could desperately use laughter. 

“Even if you could, not better than Anne, you can’t,” Jerry sighed, and Gilbert had to nod. She was the fiercest girl any of them knew. “That’s my only regret, you know. That she won’t have me there with her.”

Gilbert scoffed. “Anne would die for you.”

“And vice-versa!”

“What good would that do, Jerry?” Gilbert pressed him, and Jerry did stay quiet. A moment of silence crossed them. “I’m sorry. I just - I think it’s better this way.”

“Must be a fucking iron conviction for you to volunteer over it,” Jerry replied, with a small smile, and Gilbert allowed himself to give him a smile as well. “Oh, and before I forget-” Jerry fished into his pocket, fumbling for a few seconds. When he took his hand out, a daisy enamel pin laid on his palm. Gilbert swallowed.

“Is that from Diana?”

Jerry nodded. He handed it over slowly, and Gilbert stared at it in awe for a moment before tucking it onto his shirt. “She wanted you to have it. Desperately. I’m not sure why, honestly. I’d be scared you were competition, if it wasn’t for, you know-”

“No, yeah, don’t worry,” Gilbert stopped him, though his words felt like they were grating his throat. The pin seemed to make his shirt so much heavier, all of a sudden. “It’s just a token. From when we were young. Pretty sure my parents gave it to her mother or something. Thanks a lot, Jerry.”

“Right. It’s no problem,” Jerry smiled, and, then, the peacekeepers notified him that it was time to leave. They hugged once more. “Try not to get yourself into too much trouble. I’ve told Anne she should trust you, but you know how she is.”

“I do,” Gilbert did his best to offer a smile and a thanks, but, when he managed to recompose himself, Jerry was long gone. Right after he left, Templesmith said Anne had a few more visitors to go, so they would like him to wait just a little. He did.

Sitting there on the beautiful green couch, Gilbert ran his fingers over the pin. The daisy reminded him of many years back, before the Hunger Games or his father’s death. He sat in a quiet part of the woods with Diana. He knew it was District Seven because not many flowers grew on the grass, but daisies did.

“Mom says they’re very reliable to prosper,” Diana had said, picking them and making him a crown. Gilbert remembered nodding as he received it. They were, indeed, reliable. His father told him, and he, Diana, that they were like a hopeful debt. A promise of something new, of coming back, and stronger.

Then, at eight years old, he hadn’t understood it, but he did now. A daisy was a sign of rebellion, born and bred in District Seven. He knew, too well, the weight this pin would have for the Capitol, and for Diana. He could almost hear her words, in the voice he had known since they were so young.

Suddenly, the door opened, pulling him out of his reverie. Gilbert got up in a shot, and saw Templesmith leading Anne in. She looked stoic. And angry. So very angry. He heard Templesmith’s whispering words. “Well, dear, come, have a moment with your friend, how about that? Then we can go.”

He was surprised when Anne took his suggestion, and did walk his way. He hugged her, and she did hug him back with a certain amount of strength. This is not what he imagined being close to Anne would be like, but every cell of his body was suddenly awake with the electricity of being touched by her. With her this close, he felt the pressure of a pendant against his chest. It must be Anne’s token. When she took a step back, he involuntarily looked down at it. A necklace. A daisy-shaped necklace. “Where did you-”

“What? My token?” She looked down at it, holding it tightly in her hand. “What does it matter now?”

_A lot. It matters so much, you don’t even know._ He knew if he told her now, though, he ran the risk of Anne directing all of her anger at him. He might be dead before they even headed for the Games. So Gilbert kept his remark in, storing it for later.

“You’re right. It doesn’t,” he said, then rest a hand on her shoulder. She permitted it, and he chose to look at this as a small advance. “What happened, Anne?”

Her lower lip trembled for a moment before she pursed them tightly together. “It’s Matthew. My-”

“Your ward,” Gilbert said, completing her sentence. Anne looked puzzled. “What? We’ve known each other forever, Anne.”

She still looked suspicious, and he knew why. They didn’t. He knew Diana and Jerry forever, and so did Anne. He didn’t quite know why, but she would never make any efforts to get to know him. God, how he wished she did. Anne seemed to understand, though, that this was a good play for Victor Templesmith to watch, and for the Capitol too. She rolled with it. “Sure. It’s just - during the reaping. He - he had a heart attack. He had been so weak for so long and he - he couldn’t -”

As Anne started choking up on her words, Gilbert hugged her tight. He knew she didn’t want to cry, not when there would be so many cameras waiting for them at the train station, but he couldn’t blame her crying when her adoptive father had just died.

The odds were never in the favor of any tribute, not when they were being sent to their deaths. But here, with the daisies on their chests clacking together and Anne’s attempts to breathe in and control her sobs, Gilbert understood that they were very much off the curve. He shushed her and ran her hand through Anne’s flaming red hair. This was not the occasion he had expected to do this in, but it would have to do. He secretly wished that that day had been normal, that Anne and Jerry had not been reaped and he did not volunteer, but he knew there was no turning back now. Not even when the odds were very clearly out against their favors.


	4. In My Closet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne has been through so much, and, yet, the worse path is the one that lies ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this one was a hell of a ride, but I think it actually turned out alright! You tell me, though (please) ;) I"ll be waiting for you in the commeeents

It felt weird to cry in Gilbert’s arms. Surely, it was more comfortable than crying by herself, but still weird. This was a boy she didn’t know but by sight, someone whose concept was so strange for her. She hadn’t been that close to pretty much any boy, let alone to Gilbert Blythe, the fallen-out son of a doctor with an apothecary and a small orchard to his name. But, still, his skin was comforting, and his hand on her hair reminded her of how her father used to shush her whenever she got scared of the monsters in her closet.

When she was young, Anne had lived in a different house with her parents. It was only a one-story, but still bigger than the Cuthbert home: they had walls of brick and furniture of fair wood. She couldn’t quite remember why that was so, but something about a diamond her father had been lucky enough to find outside working hours. She had never mentioned it to anyone, but she was fairly sure it wasn’t in District seven either - her first memory of the tall oak trees of town square had been after the first rebellion started, when they ran away from their house. She was only six years old then, so of course she still felt born and bred in Seven, but she knew she hadn’t been.

She had a very clear memory of the president’s first announcement concerning the war: a warning. A say he would not tolerate the demonstrations of disobedience from the districts, and neither would Panem. A warning that he would destroy them.

That day, there was a lot of shouting on the street. Her dad went out, and his mom wanted to go with, but one of them had to stay behind with Anne. The whole evening, the two of them stayed worried about him, especially when they heard gunshots coming from the square. Bertha had tried to make Anne go to bed, and, though she tried, she could not fall asleep for the world. Her eyes would shift from her window to the closet, and then back. She was so scared.

It felt like an eternity before her father came back. When he did, though, he sat by her bed, and hugged her until she went to sleep. “If there were any monster, my Anne,” he said, running his fingers through her head, “I trust you would battle them down. Wouldn’t you, my brave girl?”

And she said she would. Despite his swollen eye, and the bleeding wound from a knife she would only discover in the morning, she promised. She had promised she would be brave for her dad. Him not being here now didn’t alleviate that promise - not when Matthew would want it as well. So when Victor called them, telling them they had to leave for the train, Anne took a deep breath in. She would have to do this. 

“Are you okay to go?” Gilbert asked in a soft voice, still holding her hand. 

“Yeah.” She said, and held his hand a little tighter. “It hurts.”

“I know how you feel.” He tried to assure her, and Anne sighed. 

“I wish this was just a monster in my closet,” she confessed in a low voice, pursing her lips to hold back a sob. “One I could just sleep away.”

“I’m sorry you can’t. But I’m here to help.”

“I know. Thank you,” Anne said, and Victor cleared his throat. “Can I hold your hand?”

Gilbert gave her a warm smile, and Anne felt slightly better. It was bad. She wasn’t gonna try to deny it. Even though it was only lunch time, she was exhausted. She wanted this day to end so badly - to have Jerry smile at her, Matthew and Marilla laugh at dinner, her father hold her to sleep on a cold night. Instead, what she could have was Gilbert, holding her hand as they were paraded for the Capitol. It wasn't even remotely close to her idea of comfort, but it would have to do for now. 

So she held his hand as they drove through downtown District Seven, and all the way into the train. Once they were in, Gilbert even led her into the bed in her beautiful compartment, though she protested his idea that she should take a nap when there was so much to be done. 

"We still have to meet our mentor," she argued, "And decide strategies. I can't go to bed."

"Anne, come on," he insisted. "You know it's for the best."

"I don't want to, Gilbert," Anne said, almost a plead. "Please don't make me."

He sat down on the bed by her side. "Listen, I promise I'll wake you up by dinner. And then we'll all have plenty of time to settle things before we get to the Capitol."

Anne took another deep breath in. She seemed to be taking a lot of those today. Maybe staying in bed was what she needed. Maybe it would make it easier, if only slightly, for her to face the rest of the day. She wouldn't be fine – she might never be –, but maybe her soul could be at peace for a little. _Just a little._

"Come on," Gilbert said as he pulled down the sheets, nudging Anne towards the pillows, "Let's get you settled in."

She watched as he kneeled and untied her sandals, gently taking them away from her calloused feet. Gilbert's hands were gentle to her, and she felt like she deserved some kindness for the day she was bearing. Had it been in other circumstances, she thought, it might've given her butterflies to feel him so close – but, then, there were no circumstances but this in which she would allow him to be so close. 

Anne fiddled with her necklace. The daisy was sort of a comfort. It was then, and only then, that she noticed Gilbert's pin. "Hey, that's Diana's daisy, right?"

He looked confused for a second, then looked down at his own chest. "Oh -- yeah. Something from when we were young."

"Twinsies. How funny," Anne raised her eyebrows. "I wonder why she gave it to you."

Gilbert offered her a small smile. "We'll talk about it later, I promise. Now, go take your nap."

And so she did - or tried to. She wouldn't blame Gilbert for his good intentions, but, every time she was about to fall asleep, a different thing would shake her awake. The bombings, her name being called, her mother falling into a pit, Matthew being grabbed away by peacekeepers: it all mixed and mashed inside her head until she eventually gave up trying to fall asleep. Instead, she stared at the ceiling, noticing how the speed made her slightly sick, and every now and then turned to her door, thinking she'd heard a knock. After a while, Anne decided to get up, slipping out of her bedsheets and into the bathroom for a shower. 

When she found the tub full and smelling of sweet smells, she couldn’t help getting in. After the long hours of tension that day had provided her, the pressure of the bubbles on her lower back felt like heaven, and Anne almost cried at the nice feeling of softness from what she assumed was some kind of bath lotions. _I should’ve tried_ this _instead of sleeping._ But, then, she had no idea what this bath would be like until she entered it. It was like nothing she’d ever tried before. Anne lingered in the bathtub for as long as she could, getting out when her fingers started to feel a little too peachy for her taste.

[A uniform](https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2469016) waited for her on the bed, now perfectly made by what she could only suppose were Capitol servants. After one long moment relishing the smooth robe that had been by the tub’s side, she slipped out of it and into the uniform, along with her sandals and her daisy necklace. Though the clothes were simple - a light blue shirt, with a tightish cut, and a pair of loose black pants -, Anne was still impressed by the fabric’s quality, which felt almost strangely comfortable. She was used to denim pants and worn out shirts, accompanied by fingerless gloves to prevent too much damage on her hands. Next to that, these clothes felt like a mousetrap.

Stepping out of her room, where the curtains were up, Anne found the sun hung low in the sky, which, to her trained eyes, meant it was late afternoon in those long summer days. The trees had now been replaced by a far off sea, which must mean they had about left District Seven. Anne spied into the open door next to hers, and, judging by the clothes she saw on the bed, she concluded that it must be Gilbert’s chambers. She knocked a few times, but received no answer, so she concluded that he must be out. Though Anne had no idea where she was, she decided to walk down the corridor she’d already found. 

On her way, Anne found two more compartments - her mentor’s and Templesmith’s, she guessed -, and what looked like a big television room with very comfortable seats. She saw the cupboard underneath the television, and decided to explore it. There were nine small boxes, each named after one of the past Games. They must be the recordings, kept in for the benefit of new tributes. Anne was repulsed by the idea, but still lingered for a moment, as if paying her respects. 

She got up to leave, having heard voices through the door so she knew she must be catching up to the others, but then stopped suddenly. They had just said her name.

“Oh, no,” she heard a voice that could only be Gilbert’s replying, and put her ear to the door. “She really doesn’t have to know.”

“Are you sure?” A different voice asked, a female one she knew she had heard before but couldn’t quite pin down. “It could ruin everything.”

“Anne wouldn’t like it. At all,” Gilbert said, affirmatively.

“And you’re convinced she will play the part without you telling her anything?” The voice insisted, skeptical, and Anne frowned. What part could she have to play? They must be talking game strategy!

“Oh, come on, Muriel! Have a little poetry!” Victor Templesmith said, and Anne got a chill from his voice, even behind the door. God, she hated him. She wasn’t certain of the why, but she did, and very much so. “Let us tell her we’ll have the two be good friends, it should be enough to set them apart anyway, after their walk from the town square to here. And if the boy manages to be gallant enough - how wonderful will that be!”

Gallant? _Gallant?_ Anne had to grit her teeth not bust open the door and scream there and then. Why shouldn’t she, though? She had been stripped of her family, reaped into the Hunger Games, lost her father figure and now they wanted her to _play a fucking part_ in a romance for Capitol propaganda? It was absurd! As if she hadn’t been through enough. Of course, she expected no less from Templesmith, but Gilbert? The one person she was trying to tell herself she could trust now?

Anne swallowed hard. She wanted to walk in and punch him flat in the face. Of course she couldn’t trust anyone, everyone she met from here on out was just waiting to see her dead. In a fleeting thought of home and her friends, she remembered how Jerry had told her to trust Gilbert. Even more, how Diana had done the same.

Her hand went up to her daisy pendant. She could bet he wore her pin right now, on the uniform that he, too, had been given. Diana’s daisy. Was he aware of what that might mean? Of what Diana was trying to tell not only them, but the whole of Panem?

Trusting he did, and he was on her side, was a risk, but, knowing Diana’s sensible mind, assuming he didn’t might be an even bigger one. Anne took a deep breath in. She would give him a chance. That was the least she owed her friend. After a moment, she opened the door.

“Hi, everyone, sorry it took me so long to find you,” Anne said, entering the room with a mild smile she considered appropriate. Not forced, but not suspicious. “Did I miss anything much?”

“Nothing much, Miss Shirley. I would say you are right on time,” Victor gave her a dissimulated smile, but Anne wasn’t looking at him. She needed to see it when Gilbert touched the daisy pin on his shirt, as if he was rearranging it - but it obviously was already immaculate. Enough for now. She would deal with that later. “We’ll talk some strategy over dinner, if you care to meet your mentor, Ms Stacy?”

On the other end of the table, Anne turned her head to find a person she did recognize: [Muriel Stacy](https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2473877), the sole winner District Seven had produced in nine editions of the Hunger Games. Muriel musn’t have been six years older than Anne, surely, with her soft eyebrows and her blonde hair, but she looked much more worn in than her age, and no one would blame her. The Games were too brutal, too visceral, for a person to come back out of them whole. Even now, with her soft skin free of scars, Anne could see her nails were irregular and much shorter than they could otherwise be. Still, she held herself fiercely, and her brown eyes offered such a warm contrast to Templesmith’s artificial green ones that Anne almost immediately trusted her.

“Anne Shirley,” she said, holding her hand out for Anne to shake it. Anne did. “I hear you’re an ace with an axe.”

Anne blinked, looking at Gilbert. “Hey, I didn’t say anything. Everyone in the District knows that.”

“Some kids from the traders sector even say you can chop down a tree in one go, though I’m afraid that can’t be true,” Muriel joked, and Anne smiled a little. She weighed in her options: Muriel had argued Gilbert, saying Anne deserved to know things, and seemed to share a mutual dislike with Victor Templesmith. She was Anne’s best shot. “Now come, have a seat. Let us dine the finest dinner you have ever had in your lives while we talk over the best ways for you to not have to kill one another.”

Anne did take a seat, and, as they waited for the food to arrive, she risked a look at Gilbert. When he offered her a smile, Anne decided not to think of the tickle in the bottom of her belly. _He helped me today, that’s all._ That moment, right then, she decided there were worse places to be.


	5. My Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert held Anne at bay, but can he convince her his motives are true?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya apparently I'm back to writing this oop hope yall like itt <3

Exactly ten years ago, when he had been only eight, Gilbert’s father had tried to teach him how to run the apothecary. He was young, and fumblesome, and barely knew proper mathematics, but he knew it was necessary, because his father wasn’t available all the time and the people of the district would be sick regardless. He learned, firstly, what couldn’t go with what, and what shouldn’t be given to certain cases or people, then moving on to where things were, and, over the course of the War, how to treat the most urgent types of wounds and ailments. When the districts curved down to the Capitol’s power, he ran the apothecary more than his father did, really, having shown almost a natural talent for healing against John Blythe’s sickly and haunted figured - which was good, because, as he knew even then, his father wouldn’t be around for much longer. In yet a couple of more years, the promising young doctor Blythe had lost his family’s old apothecary while avoiding the tessera, and, though he still lived above it in the trader’s sector, he would wake up earlier than other lumberjacks to make his way into the woods at the same time.

Regardless of how things got out of his or his father’s command towards the end, though, Gilbert still remembered how methodic John Blythe was on him at the beginning. Everyday, he would go through hours and hours of scrutiny from his father’s seat in the corner of the apothecary, righting his every wrong with more seriousness than Gilbert had ever seen him do anything at all. From moment one of him both wanting and needing to help as a healer, his father had made it very clear that people’s lives were on the line when it came to medicine. He had to be all too aware, John thought, of the power in his hands, of the importance that his every move held. A little too much here, someone overdoses on sleep syrup. A little too little there, and the bleeding isn’t stopped effectively enough to guarantee the survival of either the limb or the person.  _ Stay on your toes _ , he said,  _ or I won’t be the only one scolding you soon enough. _

Throughout dinner, that same feeling came back to him - but, if anything, Anne’s scrutinizing glare was even more powerful. Surely, the closeness of their deaths and the completely new environment helped augment the intensity, when opposed to the safe space that his father’s commerce had been, but that wasn’t really what made Anne so much more menacing than his dad. Instead, her grandeur came from the fact that Gilbert knew her eyes to promise that she would, very well, be the one scolding him, and he would dread it so very awfully.

Sitting opposite to him at the table, Anne seemed to have accepted his plea for temporary truce. He could play dumb and pretend like she had no reason to be suspicious, but Gilbert didn’t feel like that would get him anywhere to start with, and, now, under her obviously knowing eyes, it seemed risky at best. It was clear to him (and perhaps to Muriel too, though Templesmith was clearly oblivious) that Anne had overheard at least part of their talk, and, though that wasn’t ideal, he got to the conclusion that he would have probably ended up telling her either way, should he go on with the impulse of creating any kind of story between them to better their chances. 

A story between them. The more Gilbert wondered, the more he was sure Anne would rush to say there wasn't one. He feared he couldn't agree. 

He was pulled from his thoughts as the most absolutely exquisite dinner he had ever seen was served to them. Sure enough, he had lived in a better condition than most people for many years, but it didn't come nearly close enough to any of this. The roast chicken, laid out on a platter from which they could cut parts, was accompanied by a sauce he couldn't identify, white rice, and roast potatoes filled with cheese. Cheese! And not even goat cheese, but something rather fine, like a buffalo? Gilbert could only imagine. 

As they ate, Muriel initiated conversation and Templesmith guided it, with the two chiming in ever so often as the food worked them like a charm. It even seemed to cut through both Anne’s and his own acidity, and, God, was that a feat. They walked them through their friendship, their notoriety. How they had come out kindly, and how kindness would be offered to them in return, even if not for long. Capitol viewers loved feeling generous, and, though not even Victor Templesmith was obnoxious enough to say it out loud, a girl who had recently become an orphan on national television was an undeniably obvious place to deposit generosity. The citizens would love them, and so would the patrons. It was paramount they let them. Every now and then, Gilbert’s mind would make a note that, of course, he wasn’t dumb, and Anne much less. They knew these things - for ten years, they had been watching them happen. They weren’t obnoxious either, and so knew they were both notorious citizens of Seven even before getting reaped in such a theatrical fashion. Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe were more acquainted with this little game of politics than a lot of other people might be. It was clear as day by the way she glared discreetly at him, holding him hostage in open air, ever so often touching her daisy necklace. A sorceress, practically. 

“But all that has been taken care of for you, naturally,” Templesmith said, finishing a long speech on clothes and parades that, frankly, he hadn’t paid much mind. “I’m sure it will be stunning, too. Though Miss Shirley here is a bit scrawny, I’m sure they’ll make you come through like wild flowers.”

Gilbert held back a chuckle. They were only a few hours in, and she looked ready to have his head. Muriel intervened. “Victor is right, it will all be very well. The last and first thing you have to decide, I guess, is your training. I’ll suggest you do it together, give the cameras a few good snippets, but it is ultimately your choice.”

Gilbert hesitated for a second, gaping slightly. He wasn’t sure what answer would please Anne. “Do we have to decide tonight?”

Muriel shrugged. “Tomorrow morning, maximum. I have plans I need to make.”

When he turned to look at Anne for clarity, he found it was her turn to chuckle. She had her arms crossed, and looked at him the whole time. “Gilbert can take his time if he wants, but I’m fine with it. God knows he’d need  _ much  _ more than a week’s training to stand to my axe.” 

He knew it was a provocation, and he knew he needed to answer it, but as her voice came out both warm with playfulness and cold as the metal of the pin sitting on his blouse, Gilbert froze. He wished he could watch and analyze her all day long. Anne Shirley was electric.

Muriel must have realized he wasn’t about to answer. “Gilbert’s a medic, Anne. I’m sure he knows plenty other, quieter ways of having you done.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” The words came out of his mouth before he realized, with a chuckle even, and all three of them looked at him immediately. He cussed himself mentally. Saying you wouldn’t kill someone as you headed for the Hunger Games, what a great idea. He tried to fix it, even though he knew he had been silent for too long. “Know. I wouldn’t know.” Not enough. They kept looking, questioning him silently. “Or maybe I would. You wouldn’t know.”

The damage had been done, and they seemed to realize they wouldn’t get anything that remotely resembled a take-back of that little piece of his dignity and presumed good sense from Gilbert, so they looked back at their own plates, finishing up the delicious chocolate cream that had been sent out after the chicken. Not Anne, though. She lingered, and, every now and again, looked at him. She had plenty of reason to, so he didn’t blame her. Though he held her gaze as many times as he found appropriate, it was pointless, confirming what he already knew: she played this game very well. Never in a million years would he be able to read Anne Shirley up if she didn’t want him to.

She stayed cryptic after dinner too, when they sat at the last compartment for a glass of a hot, smooth, chocolate drink that both Gilbert and Anne recognized as hot chocolate from a long time ago (a surprise to all involved), and up until Victor and Muriel had left them with a goodnight. He meant to follow, go into his room and perhaps take a bath as he thought through the imminence of death, but Anne held his wrist as he was about to stand up. 

"You owe me an explanation," she said simply, her eyes avoiding him now, looking into her glass. "Several, actually."

Gilbert sighed, but sat back down. "Sure. What do you want to know, Anne?"

She seemed to think about it for a minute. "Why do you have Diana's daisy? And don't lie to me."

Gilbert thought for a second as well. Should he tell her? If she didn't already know, he might just be endangering her for no reason. But her blue eyes, cold and furious, like they were the gatekeepers of a storm, warned him. "You know it's not just a token, right? It's a symbol?"

"No doy. I don't know you, but I know Diana, and she certainly isn't into you, let alone enough to give you her pin."

A bit of free chastising. Sure. He could live through it. "No, it wasn't like that. My dad gave her mom this pin when we were very young. It has been with us for a while. You know daisies, they're strong and resilient. It's a District Seven thing, right?"

Anne looked at him for a second, biting her lower lip. "So your dad was a rebel too?" Gilbert froze at the sound of the word, eyes wide. "What? They know what the pins mean, Blythe. I don't think they're paying attention right now but, anyway, it's not like we can hide."

Gilbert took a second to process her words. "Not like we mean to, either, I guess."

"Right. Yeah." She paused for a long time, fiddling with her necklace. Though he knew where it came from, he realized he only had a vague memory of Anne's parents. They had gone missing so soon after they arrived to Seven. "So did she just want you to have the family heirloom and the rebel symbol? Kind of like a bullseye?"

Gilbert pursed his lips. "Well, yeah. But it was also a sign for you to trust me, Anne."

Anne paused for another moment, pulling her hair all together over one shoulder. In the moonlight, the red was dim, but there nevertheless. Gilbert had realized that, over the years, it grew ever so slightly wavier, bouncing off her collarbone. His fingers itched and so did the rest of his body. Was she unnerving him on purpose? She couldn't be, right? Wouldn't? "It's worked so far. I don't see why I need to trust you though. It's not like you have a hidden martial talent that's about to save me. Or is it?"

Gilbert chuckled at that, and saw Anne open the smallest of smiles. His heart jumped. "It's not. But you could use my help surviving."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very much," Anne said, no particular anger in her voice, but an accusation in her eyes as she looked up to him. "You're not making a very strong case for yourself."

"You're right," Gilbert sighed. "Don't take my word for it then. Take Diana's."

She furrowed her brow. "So you volunteered for the Hunger Games because Diana Barry wanted me to survive?"

It came out before he realized. "Gosh, Anne, no, I did it because I couldn't just watch you go."

He didn't look up at her, but he knew that, if he did, he would have found her eyes scrutinizing him. "You what?"

"Listen, Anne, I just care -"

Her voice came out furious. "You barely know me. God, is this about that bullshit at the table? And you and Jerry at the school?"

Gilbert let his face rest in his hands for a few moments. He'd been waiting for years for a moment like this, a moment where Anne saw him, and, yet, every word he ever knew seemed stuck in his throat. There was no way he could risk Anne's distrust, or her not being open with him. The stakes were normally high at the Hunger Games, but, for the two of them, they were so much higher. This could be it. This could be payback, for him, for Anne, for Panem. And Anne could make it out alive. He had to give it his best, not the version of him that was jelly-legged every time light hit Anne's hair. Deep breath, Gilbert. 

"You know what? I'm leaving," Anne said, starting to stand up, but he grabbed her wrist. Anne glared at him, not sitting down, but instead crossing her arms. 

Gilbert took a moment to think through his words. "If you had gone into the Arena with Jerry, you'd have died for him. We can't afford for the single child of Walter and Bertha Shirley to die, Anne."

Anne's expression suddenly lost all its fierce. She sat back down. "How - How do you -"

"Our parents gave us, gave this," he said, holding the daisy that rested next to her collarbone, "their lives. Don't you… Don't you think it's time we show the Capitol the lesson they taught us?"

Anne looked down at his hand, then back up at him. He was surprised when she put her own hand over his, pursing her lips. Anne’s touch was true - he had tapped into something real, something hers, and unexpectedly too. The lights were dimmed in the compartment, but Gilbert nevertheless had the impression he saw her jaw trembling, and felt both a warmth and a pang in his chest. "We'll give them our pay?"

"Yes," Gilbert nodded solemnly. He let a moment pass, then smiled at her. "And who knows? Maybe you'll even stop hating me along the way."

Anne chuckled through her nose, though he couldn't tell what it meant. She let his hand fall, still holding onto the daisy, and looked out into the night sky, shrunk against the soft couch. By the look on her face, Gilbert could tell she was thinking about her parents – all of them. He felt guilty. He knew how grief was, after all these years, and he was sorry to make her feel it. He also knew, however, that it was a powerful card he had played, the strongest in his deck, and, though it had put Anne on a page closer to his, it was all it could do at that time. To work properly, to really help them, it needed to breathe. Anne needed to breathe. 

Gilbert mumbled something about goodnight and leaving, then stood up to go. He scratched his nape as he made for the door, but, as he was about to reach it, Anne called out. She walked up to him and, without warning, wrapped him in a tight hug. Though it was as tight as the one she had given him earlier that day, it was more… Acknowledging? Then, the hug meant support, and hiding. Here, it was just Anne Shirley hugging Gilbert Blythe. Her hair smelled not like the perfumes from the bath, but like lemongrass and freshly cut wood, which made him realize that he was probably breathing it in too much.

"What's this for?" He almost whispered, afraid to drive her away. 

"Everything," Anne said in a low voice, the hair on his neck going up at her warm breath. "Thank you, Gilbert Blythe."


End file.
